


Dinosaurs and angel-cakes

by Kujaku



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 19:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14267640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kujaku/pseuds/Kujaku
Summary: Written for the Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2017 on Dreamwidth.Mostly gen, but has a tiny kiss. Enjoy!





	Dinosaurs and angel-cakes

I

  


The sprawling city was blanketed in fog, causing people to knock themselves out on overhanging bits of masonry and to trip over random cats. But the worst was the never-ending smell that seemed to pervade every single street, nook and cranny. It wasn't "the Great Stink" yet, but a single breath of the air around the Thames could (and did) definitely cause a few causes of indigestion and nausea. 

And in a small street far from the sluggish river, a figure was walking in the fog, head in a book and with three other books piled in one his hand. 

  


It wasn't the rarity of the books, nor the price. It was sometimes just the smell of the ink on the paper, the touch of the vellum or the leather, and all the knowledge inside. Humans had written down their history, their entire society; all their lives could be found inside the covers of a small tome and he had found more interest here than in all the silver halls of Paradise. 

(also more small finger food and snuff-boxes)

He dimly registered having been walking for a long moment, but to be honest, the book he was currently devouring was stopping him from really caring. And it wasn't as if he was going to get lost, he knew London like the back of his hand. Inspiring some of the architects had certainly helped.

It was only when he nearly collided with another figure that he put his book down and bowed his head in apology. 

Only to be met with a grin and an outstretched arm.

– Careful, you wouldn't want to ruin those delicate bindings by running head-first into the Thames.

– I'm nowhere near the Thames, Crowley.

– I'm surprised you actually know _where_ you are.

– Of course I know where I am. I just left Paternoster Row a few minutes ago, and turned left, so I should be – I should be … Oh.

– Come on, angel. Let's get you home before night falls. 

  


The walk back to St Anne's Street was bathed in the cold fog, but at least the conversation kept them warm. Mostly talking about the pile of books that Aziraphale had managed to convince Crowley to carry.

– \- really quite fascinating the way everything is portrayed. Even though the people have a few problems with it. 

– Do tell.

– The way it's written, the themes, everything known about the author. Can you imagine? You should have heard the outcry when it was published a few years ago: "We need scarcely say, that these volumes have neither principle, object, nor moral; the horror which abounds in them is too grotesque and bizarre ever to approach near the sublime, and when we did not hurry over the pages in disgust, we sometimes paused to laugh outright...."

Crowley nodded and simply prodded the angel in the right direction, letting him speak over and over and over again. He could spend hours listening to Aziraphale talk, it was simply so easy. And even if he really had no idea what Aziraphale was talking about sometimes, just seeing him content and happy was the best thing he could ask for.

– \- and it does beg the question of who of science or God should be allowed to create life.

– In my opinion, neither.

– Dear, don't be blasphemous.

– Won't be the first time... Come on, in you go before the damp starts eating away at those precious books of yours. And then what will you read for your usual Christmas hermit-like retreat?

  


Aziraphale smiled and motioned towards the shelves in his little cosy home, all of which seemed to Crowley to be perpetually on the verge of collapsing.

(The demon would have admired the nearly Escher-like precision of the whole thing if Escher had actually been born yet)

– I still have these. First editions and reprints. A treasure of inestimable count. Please, sit down, I'll make some tea.

– Seriously angel, you're going to spend Christmas and the New Year reading? Again? You've been doing that since we got Gutenberg drunk in that seaside inn that time.

The angel came back in, two cups and a few slices of cake on a platter, and sat down opposite Crowley with a smile.

– Why, what are you going to do this year?

– This. 

With a totally unnecessary flourish (that nearly broke a saucer) Crowley produced a small paper and handed it over. 

– Here, read it. 

– “ _Mr Waterhouse Hawkins requests the honour of — at dinner in the mould of the Iguanodon at the Crystal Palace on Saturday evening December the 31st at five o’clock 1853. An answer will oblige._ ” Dear, that isn't your name.

– They don't know that. 

– How did you even get this invitation? 

– You don't need to know that. Are you interested? 

– Is this about the new thing they're building up at Sydenham? It looks impressive, I had thought about visiting it once summer comes back. The sun through the glass must be beautiful. Take another slice of cake please, dear.

– Come with me then, Zira. Think of it as a late Christmas present. Because I know you're going to want to see them.

– I know what iguanodons looked like, dear.

  


Crowley's grin couldn't have been wider.

  


II

  


– What – but how – ? Crowley, what in the name of Vikram Seth is going on here?!

– Aren't they gorgeous? 

– No, they're not!

  


It was two weeks later and both supranatural beings were walking through what half of London considered a work of ethereal art and beauty, and what the other half couldn't wait to burn down because it was a wart on the bottom of proud Britannia. 

(they'd just have to be patient for a couple of years more)

The Crystal Palace had been built two years prior to host the Great Exhibition of 1851, and hundreds of thousands of people had passed through its doors to see the marvels of new technology. When the exhibition had finished, it had been moved to Sydenham and hundreds of thousands of people had come to do what people did best : gawk. Which was, funnily enough, exactly what Aziraphale was doing at that very precise moment. 

  


The dinosaurs of Crystal Palace were a historical landmark, a symbol of everything that science had discovered about the Earth's past, and had made completely, totally and hilariously  _wrong_ . 

Even more hilarious was Aziraphale's face. It was so comical that Crowley couldn't help giggling –  _giggling_ – at the angel's innocent outrage.

– They're lovely, I know... 

– What did you do?!

– Me? Why are so quick to think that this is my fault?

– I should have been expecting something like this, these are your favourite pranks. Ever since St Pancreas*!

Crowley still hadn't stopped giggling, and at the mention of St Pancras, he howled with laughter, startling a few of the other strollers. 

– Oh come on, Zira! I have to have a _little_ fun, or I'll go a bit mad... But I promise you, this isn't my doing.

– Seriously, you had nothing to do with this...abomination?

– It's not _that_ bad. Not really. Just a bit...wrong. Trust them to mess it all up. Although in their defence, they didn't have much to go on. Or maybe they just don't have any imagination. I mean, all they had to go on was a jawbone and some dirt...

  


They were standing right next to one of the famed iguanodons of Crystal Palace, the electric lights sparkling like fairy-dust from one end of the gardens to the other. It was nearing the time written on Crowley's invitation card, but the demon had apparently totally forgotten about that. Instead he gently prodded Aziraphale's shoulder and motioned towards one of the walk-ways. 

– Remind you of anything?

– My, I had no idea they had an entire forest in here... Such beauty, it's like a true...paradise.

– Let's go for a little walk, shall we? I'd feel bad to have dragged you all the way here and not at least tried some of the tea.

  


The small tea-room was cosy and hidden in the middle of the artificial palm grove, and both supranatural beings sat down to enjoy a cup of tea. Which rapidly turned into a quick bite to eat. And the quick bite to eat became a full high tea, complete with kippers and toasted bread. Then when the tea and the food had disappeared, they started to walk through the trees; and still they spoke, and still they reminisced, as the palm-trees loomed over them like distant memories. 

Finally, Aziraphale blinked, noticing that the bustle of distant conversations and footsteps had disappeared. The electric lights had also dimmed, but the light from the stars pouring in through the glass roof had replaced them. And the only voices he could hear were from far away, voices raised in song and (drunken) happiness. 

Looking around for Crowley, the angel touched his arm, concern in his eyes.

– Dear, what time is it?

– Sounds about midnight, wouldn't you say?

– You had an invitation...

– Did I?

  


Crowley was smiling again, eyes glittering behind the dark glasses. He took the paper from his pocket and shrugged, totally nonchalant. 

– A shame, I was _really_ looking forward to spending New Years Eve with complete strangers in the middle of an ugly mould of a failed science project.

– As opposed to...?

– Spending New Year's Eve with you.

Aziraphale just blinked. 

– You planned this?

– Guilty as charged.

– Why...?

– Do I even need a reason? Except that I really, really wanted to bring you here.

Aziraphale couldn't help himself. He simply smiled and tightened his touch on Crowley's arm.

– I had a wonderful evening, my dear. Really. It was fantastic, thank you.

– Hmm... Something was missing, and we both know what it was.

  


III

  


It wasn't their first kiss but like each time, it was almost a sacrament, a complete surrender of themselves to the other. And under the stars that rained on the glass roof of the Crystal Palace, under the leaves of the palm-trees and under their outstretched and mingling wings, they closed their eyes and held their Heaven in their arms.

  


*

  


* please read up about the St Pancreas Walrus, it's really quite odd :)


End file.
